


To Be Nations

by neioo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neioo/pseuds/neioo
Summary: small vignettes of times in history from the perspective of different nations, each event in someway shaping their very being, or the others around them





	To Be Nations

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a part of [[this]](https://archiveofourown.org/series/383626) greater universe, however it can be read on its own. Romantic pairings exist in those stories that are irrelevant here.

 

I. the end of Rome

A two-year journey for what, _this_?

As if the smelly, overcrowded, obnoxiously loud Coliseum wasn’t already enough of a nightmare, Rome won’t shut up.

“Han. _Han_ , are you even paying attention to me?”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“What, do you want me to be formal? Then, Han Dynasty—”

“My name is Wang Yao.”

At that, Rome laughs like China just told the world’s most hilarious joke.

“Just because a barbarian such as yourself doesn’t use a _real_ name—”

Rome interrupts him. “Man, you really are a riot.”

China is ready to leave, sick of hearing Latin, sick of having to speak it too. What a pathetic, stupid idea to come here; to travel the Silk Road and collect goods and information for the emperor. Idiotic. All of this is beneath him. These barbarians are uncultured and uncivilized, and this very empire is on the brink of collapse.

The crowd starts cheering, and China dully looks down as Rome starts blabbering incessantly to someone over his shoulder. The two of them are above the ring, in their own private room. They _should_ be with the emperor, and China finds it ridiculous that the two of them are alone. A Nation is a God, a vestige of the emperor’s holy self. They are to accompany each other, be worshiped together, work towards a common goal. A Nation is his translator, one with access to all the languages in the world. A Nation—

“Later, Fausta,” Rome says in a singsong voice. A girl giggles. Who is she, a servant? Someone of noble blood? With Rome’s tone of voice, he’s implying that he’ll fuck her later, and China feels a wave of disgust pass over him.

Rome must notice him staring at where she disappeared. “Do you want to join in?”

“No.”

“So stingy! Really, though—You can invite some of your eunuchs. It’ll be fun.”

China repeats himself more forcefully. “No.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never—”

“When the situation is necessary, and someone from the emperor’s lineage re—”

“Only from the emperor’s lineage!?” Rome looks appalled. “You have all the power in the world, and what, you limit yourself like that?”

“I’m sorry I’m not like you and don’t fuck everything that blinks at me.”

“Rude—”

“I don’t want to join any of your orgies. Stop asking me. This is the sixth time, and my answer is still no.”

Rome opens his mouth to argue, but someone else comes in and catches his attention again.

China turns away, fuming, hating Rome, hating how _weird_ he is. He has no idea how else to describe it. He’s weird. He’s different. China’s been here for days, and Rome has not once acted like the God he is. It’s…

Rome hits his shoulder. “Look! The games are starting!”

Ah. The thing they were invited to watch as soon as they arrived. China dully looks below. “What warriors will be fighting? Anyone distinguished?”

Rome grins. “Not necessarily warriors. Something even better.”

China dully gives him an, “Oh?”

“Yeah, Nations!”

The air gets a little harder to breathe. Maybe China heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

“Nations. Oh—the gates are opening! Look!”

“Nations?”

“Yes! Are you having trouble hearing? I know the crowd can get super rowdy; look, see all the weapons in the middle? They’ll each grab one to fight each other. Afterwards, the victor gets to spend time with the emperor.” Rome winks. “I’ve had fun with them too.”

He then laughs; either missing or not caring about China’s horrified expression.

“Here, I can hook you up with one of them too. Will that be better for your ‘prestige?’”

Before China can utter out a response, the gates open ominously, like a lion is about to charge out and attack the crowd. It’s why it’s a shock when women, young, innocent looking women, emerge and walk towards the center.

“Han, prepare yourself,” Rome says, nudging him as the crowd cheers wildly. “It’s going to be great.”

‘Great’ is the last word he’d use to describe this situation. He turns to leave, maybe to make an excuse about indigestion, but an audible booing takes over before he can.

China looks back at the ring. “What’s going on?”

Rome frowns. “I…I don’t know. They aren’t grabbing the weapons.”

It’s true; all ten of them are standing motionless in the middle, and China feels uncomfortable.

“What do you do if they don’t fight?”

Rome’s expression twists. “I don’t know. They’ve never not…”

He trails off when the Nations start chanting. China wishes he could hear what, but the crowd’s screams makes it impossible.

Someone comes into their box when people start throwing things at them. “Rome, is it possible for you to make them stop this?” a man asks, eyes darting around.

Rome’s face is pale. “I…”

Maybe he says something else, but China doesn’t hear what; or rather stops paying attention to him altogether when he sees the Nations below suddenly turning to dust.

Nations can’t die. Nations are immortal. They can reform from ashes, live through disease. But in cases where their society crumbles, they will fade, age rapidly and transform into dust, returning to the heavens that brought them here.

So why is it that they’re dissolving now?

China feels a chill run through him, and suddenly it’s difficult to breathe. Nations can just…disappear? Whenever? No, that’s—

Rome screams.

It’s so blood curdling that China whips his head around to look, and the sight that greets him sends him into shock.

Rome is dissolving.

“WE MAKE UP WHAT YOU REPRESENT. WITHOUT US YOU ARE NOTHING.”

The chants seem to echo, and China can’t take his eyes off Rome as his one leg disappears. He collapses; looks to China desperately.

“Y-Yao!”

People run inside, but China doesn’t notice any of them.

“Yao, hel—”

And then, Rome falls, the remaining of him turning to dust that spills out from his clothing as soon as it hits the floor.

* * *

 

II. the discovery of a boy

“You’re _how old_?”

This is insufferable. “I’ve been alive since The Heptarchy.”

This dumb escort boy clearly has no idea when that was, and England doesn’t know why he’s even indulging this conversation. Perhaps out of sheer boredom, at this point. This two and a half month trip across the Atlantic Ocean is starting to get to all of them.

“What age—”

“More than a thousand years; give or take.” How is it already 1686? Time goes by too fast, meaningless all the same.

The boy barely blinks at him before England retreats back to his quarters, a small, dank room. Furnished and private, at least, but it’s nothing as good as what the captain or the other important government officials get.

He resents being on this trip and resents that the only reason he’s traveling to the colonies is because of a demand being made by a Native tribe; as if they have any right to demand anything out of them.

It’s useless. Worthless. His time could be better spent back with the royal family than suffering through this hell.

Why he was demanded to come—him _specifically_ —is a baffling concept to both the Monarchy and to him. Explorers of the New World have expressed before that the Natives hold high importance to Nations, even putting them in _leadership_ positions, but England dismissed such an idea as insanity.

Yet here he is, being shipped across the ocean.

This request was a long time coming; chiefs of the Lenape group have been urging colonists in Philadelphia to send the British Nation Avatar for years now to discuss a matter, and they’ve refused to elaborate on what that matter is until England shows up. Finally after years of persistent asking, the King got curious and sanctioned England being sent away.

It’s all ridiculous.

*

_“You’ve changed.”_

_“I’ve changed?” Spain sneered, his face marred with pure hatred. England expected nothing less from any other Nation. He’s never gotten along with them._

_“Yes,” he said simply. Though when was this; everything is blurry. “Ever since your empire acquired that Italian Nation boy, you’ve changed.”_

_Spain lashed out. Where were they? A castle? A battlefield?_

_England laughed, dodging him. “You’ve gotten weak.”_

_“Who has; Spain or Antonio?”_

Before England can respond, the world sways, and he wakes up, confused and mildly seasick.

*

He only gets a good nights rest when they make landfall.

The following day is cool and crisp, typical for fall, but warmer than back in London.

“The delegation is comprised of members from all three clans: the Munsee, Unalactgio, and Unami, the Unami being the main organizer,” one of England’s officials says as they wait outside for their carriage.

“That’s a headache…”

“England,” someone else then says. “We don’t know why they are so insistent on your presence, but you will hear out what they have to say and act in the best interest of the crown. Is that understood?”

England nods. He originally expected himself to be more annoyed at having to attend this, but he’s in a good mood, and his curiosity is piqued as to why they want _him_ of all things there.

Maybe this won’t be that bad.

*

The trip is long and tedious.

Eventually, their carriage comes up to a river, following it until they see a woman standing in the distance.

England would ask who she is, but he doesn’t have to. He can sense her presence.

“That’s the Nation,” one of England’s escorts says, causing the other British men to mutter amongst themselves. “She represents all the Lenape’s clans.”

“Why is it a woman?”

“Most of the Nations here are.”

“Absurd.”

The carriage comes to a halt, and the five of them climb out. Outside, the horses seem skittish. England feels it to, seeing the woman staring them down as she is.

She then approaches them with no hesitation, hesitation she very well should have.

“You,” she says in English, masking her accent from her native Unami tongue.

Typically, England isn’t allowed to talk to outsiders, and he’s certainly never allowed to speak first. That’s why all eyes are upon him when he hesitantly answers, “What is so important that our presence is required?”

“ _Your_ presence is required. We’ve been trying to contact you for five years of your calendar and have been met with nothing but silence.”

“Well, we’re here now,” England says flatly, “so kindly tell us what the issue is.”

Lenape looks away. “It is something that must be shown, not explained. I can lead you back to the village.”

“But only you,” she says when everyone starts moving forward.

That enrages England’s escorts. “How dare you think—”

“This is a matter of the Spirits and my people. I will show him, and then we will reconvene here by sundown.”

“Why can’t they come?” England asks after an uncomfortable pause, fighting back a weird feeling of anxiousness.

Lenape turns away. “Because they bear disease,” she eventually says, her posture weakening. “You cannot carry it, but they can.”

This calms everyone down, seeing her show a sign of weakness.

“Fine,” one of England’s advisors says. “But if you don’t return by sundown, there will be consequences.”

Lenape doesn’t look at him. “Understood.”

She then leads England away, down a path he is not wearing adequate clothing for.

As soon as the others disappear behind the tree line, he asks, “A matter of the Spirits?”

“You call them _Nations_ ,” everything but ‘Nations’ is in her native Unami, “which is an idiotic term.”

“I didn’t come up with it,” England mutters.

“No. You’re right. From all that I’ve learned about you European Spirits, you’re weak and submissive and bear no importance, so of course you wouldn’t come up with the name for yourselves.”

England balks at her.

She’s taller than him, and he isn’t short. Broader, too. And though he’s confident in his competence to kill, he’s unarmed. He wouldn’t doubt her ability to snap his neck in an instant either.

He struggles to find something else to say, but his own train of thought is interrupted when he sees smoke rising above the trees. The two of them then weave through the forest until they reach a clearing near the river. There, wigwams are arranged intricately, laying out a large village that people are gathering in the center of.

He’s stared at when the two of them pass by, and England can’t help but notice the large number of sick people lingering in their homes, staring at him with hostility and exhaustion in their eyes.

The stares make him feel irrationally angry, and what he would give to have free-range to act violently right now.

“Chiefs,” Lenape greets.

“Sáwm-Xkway,” they respond.

She then goes on to say something, England doesn’t know what, because he stops paying attention when he senses something weird. It’s as if there’s another Nation, but that can’t be right. The presence is almost like it’s his own, somehow. But it’s coming from a wigwam…?

Lenape notices he’s not paying attention. “Are you interested in the other Spirit whose energy you sense?”

England’s eyes jerk towards her. “Excuse me?”

Lenape waves her hand as a response.

“This Spirit child found me twenty seasons ago,” she says when England freezes. “I made an assumption that his energy was similar to your own, and I was right. He’s come into existence because of your civilization.”

England makes eye contact with the child—with _America_.

“Our esteemed Name-Giver bestowed him with the personal name of Aw-Xay-ahp-pah-noóX-way. We call him ‘Aw-pan.’”

The boy smiles at him, and suddenly everything else feels meaningless.

* * *

 

III.

the challenge

There are so many Nations gathered that Korea has never seen before.

He swallows, scooting closer to China, who gives him a pained look and gently pushes him back to his own mat.

Kublai Kahn stands above them on a platform, his Nation Avatar next to him. Korea asked China what that Nation represented once. _Yao_ was still here, but Kublai Kahn and his own Nation were in control of the Yuan Dynasty.

“ _He is the Mongol Empire,”_ was the only cryptic answer China gave him.

Korea wonders if he would have told _Kiku_ more information, but whereas Goryeo has been conquered, the Mongols have yet to make any significant gains on Japan.

A wave of bitterness at his predicament washes over him, but also happiness that at least China is here with him. It could be worse, is what he keeps telling himself. Sure, all the Nations conquered by the Mongols are being forced to live in the Yuan Dynasty’s capital right now never to return to their homelands any time soon, but…

Now Korea feels sick.

Kublai Kahn isn’t doing much, just talking to some of his war advisors. He simply likes to gather all the Nations together and watch them for long periods, as if they’re a weird spectacle. They never really do anything when they’re gathered either…just sit like art pieces.

“Song. Psst, Song.”

_Oh God, not this fucking brat again._

“Song,” Russia tries again, calling the name of the now fallen dynasty _Yao_ used to represent. The boy, only a young child in appearance, keeps wiggling to try to get his attention.

“Ivan,” Russia’s, what he’s been calling, ‘sister’ tugs on his robes. She’s only slightly older than him in appearance, but her mind is mature at least, unlike his. “Enough. Leave him alone and face forward.”

“But nothing’s going on right now,” he grumbles.

The two are newer here. Usually any time more Nations are brought to this place, Korea gets overcome by a feeling of anxiousness. Being annoyed is a first, though.

China maintains his unwavering posture. “What?” Ever since this kid laid eyes on him, he’s been following him around like a lost puppy.

“Will you teach me how to do the paper folding thingy today?”

“Maybe later.”

Other Nations glare at them to shut up, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. It’s too late, though, the Mongol Empire Nation Avatar sees them and makes a comment to the Kahn. Korea dislikes him; he always acts arrogant and harasses all of them whenever given the—

Soldiers are approaching them.

Russia’s presence sputters, and Korea can see him shaking when guards surround them.

China still hasn’t taken his eyes off the Kahn. “What is the issue?” he asks in Mongolian.

“This brat has caused disturbance after disturbance,” Mongol Empire sneers.

“And? He has the mind of a five-year-old,” China says flatly. “You can’t expect much out of him.”

“That doesn’t matter; he should be taught a lesson!”

The thought of entertainment looks to delight the Kahn, and Mongol Empire grins triumphantly.

“He is a child,” China repeats, finally looking at him when Russia starts to shake.

The room suddenly becomes silent.

“You dare talk back to me?!” Mongol Empire yells.

“…”

“You represent nothing now! _Nothing_ , and yet it is always you who questions my authority!” His face is becoming red. “How dare—”

“Enough,” Kublai Kahn interrupts.

Mongol Empire dips his head.

“He has a point, though. I do find it curious that you’re still alive,” Kublai Kahn says with wonder as his advisors gather behind him. “The dynasty you once represented is now gone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” China says, not even batting an eye.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I now represent the Yuan Dynasty.”

*

“—and they’re going to kill you—”

“Yong-Soo—”

“Yao, you can’t dissolve. You can’t. And now you’re under threat—”

“Yong-Soo, I’m not going to lose this duel.”

Korea swallows.

China looks over the balcony, having such a bored expression that Korea is amazed and anxious by it.

“You’re that sure you can win?” he asks after a bit, unable to help himself.

Now China looks insulted. “I wouldn’t have challenged him to a duel deciding our Nationhood otherwise.”

“But Mongol Empire is strong.”

“Listen…” China’s eyes get glassy. “He’s only strong because of us.”

Korea frowns. “What—”

“We make up what he represents, Yong-Soo. Without us, he is nothing.”

“Can you please stop speaking in riddles for once in your life?”

All China does is sigh.

*

“Are you going to die because of me?”

Korea wants to pummel Russia to the ground. The kid is somehow alone, which is rare since his ‘sister’ usually watches him like a hawk.

China is dressed in Mongolian military attire. “I’m not going to die, Ivan.”

“Should I call you Yuan now?”

“You don’t have to call me anything. Go back to your quarters. They’ll fetch you when it’s time to watch me.”

“But Goryeo is following you…”

“Yong-Soo is also about to head back.”

He wasn’t planning to and gets annoyed. “Yao—”

“Can I call you ‘Yao’ too?” Russia butts in.

“You can call me whatever.”

The kid blushes, and Korea groans and drags him away.

China smiles. “Thank you, Yong-Soo.”

It’s not a goodbye.

*

The following day, they’re all dressed up elaborately and gathered alongside important officials, the Khan’s family members, and foreign dignitaries to watch the duel between Mongol Empire and China.

 _“The rules are simple,” the Kahn announced yesterday. “You each tried to murder the other with the swords of your choosing. The one who wins is the Yuan Dynasty._ ”

_“When I win,” China said after he was finished speaking, “I want to make a decree.”_

_“When you win?” The Kahn sounded delighted at his certainty. “With that confidence, I grant your request.” Mongol Empire sent him a seething look. “But if you lose,” he quickly continued, “you will be publicly humiliated and forced to give up your Nationhood.”_

_“That is fine.”_

It isn’t fine. Korea feels like he’s going to throw up, and all the Nations around him are equally unsure about what’s going to—

“Attention!”

At the Kahn’s voice, everyone looks to where he’s walking in with both Nations. They all then bow, only rising when he gives his command.

Korea feels sick.

“The Nations will now get into place!”

Everyone is outside in the gardens, and it would be a peaceful day if they weren’t about to spectate two beings trying everything in their power to kill each other.

Korea watches as China confidently walks to one side, facing Mongol Empire with such a calm demeanor that the very act seems to piss him off.

“Swords!”

The two draw them, China a broadsword and Mongol Empire a saber. Though it’s autumn, Korea can feel a bead of sweat roll down his back.

“Ready!”

They get into fighting stances, and Korea’s ears start roaring. Will this be it; after hundreds of years with _Yao_ , will this be his end? _Kiku_ won’t even be here to see—

“COMMENCE!”

China lunges forward, catching Mongol Empire off guard with his speed. He blocks the other man’s sword effortlessly, however, maneuvering his body and using the slight curve of his weapon to his advantage. His gains are minimal, though, and China uses the thickness of his own weapon to thrust him back.

The roaring cheers make Korea feel dazed. Both of the fighting Nation’s eyes are red; the Kahn’s face is filled with glee.

It feels like a cruel dream.

Mongol Empire’s sword swipes past China’s cheek, causing it to bleed a split-second before it heals. In retaliation, China uses his strength to knock Mongol Empire back, causing him to stumbl—

China hacks off his arm.

It doesn’t start healing right away for whatever reason, and it should since Mongol Empire is so strong. It doesn’t deter him as he charges forward, though, effortlessly wielding the saber with his other hand. China blocks it, however, exerting his presence and making Mongol Empire’s knees give out.

He chops off his other arm.

This time, Mongol Empire screams. But even as his sword skids over to where Korea is, all he can focus on is the man’s fallen limbs.

They’re turning to dust.

His eyes fade back to their usual appearance, and all that’s left on his face is fear when China approaches him, sword still drawn, eyes bright red.

Mongol Empire says something; Korea can’t hear, and China doesn’t respond. All he does is chop off the other man’s head, and before it can crash to the ground, it and the rest of his body turns to dust, spilling out of his clothing and blowing away in the wind.

China looks at the Kahn, an eerie silence hushing over the garden.

“I want the rest of these Nations to go back to their homeland.”

* * *

 

IV. his and our demise

A storm is coming.

Lenape stands on top of a hill, regarding the sky with wariness. Concealed by the forest, she can almost ignore the distant sounds of warfare.

“Soldiers are approaching from the south,” Shawnee says, she and Mohawk approaching from behind.

Lenape nods, feeling distant and cold. Detached. That’s what the Revolutionary War has done to her. She and other Spirits have offered up their bodies to it in exchange for the colonists’ promise that their tribes would be kept safe, but somehow, she feels like those sacrifices have been vain. Everything she’s done since the colonists arrived feels that way.

The biggest slap in the face is who approaches her.

“Are the soldiers marching forward, or are they retreating like the others?” America asks.

Shawnee refuses to make eye contact with him. She’s always been insistent on avoiding it. “Mostly retreating, though a stray band was erratically moving closer to us.”

Prussia, quite possibly the strangest man Lenape has ever met, starts laughing hysterically. “Erratically? What the hell does that mean?”

“Some were sprinting,” Mohawk says for Shawnee. “And there was no order. Distantly, I could sense the British Spirit’s energy too.”

America swallows just as Spain and France join them. The two have deranged expressions, and Lenape notices blood smeared on both of their clothing before she looks away.

“Have fun murdering some soldiers?” Prussia asks dryly.

The euphoria coming off the two is noticeable. “It was wonderful,” Spain says, grinning.

Lenape scans the area, trying to hide the disgust she feels. “If the British Spirit is coming, we should split up and surround the area.”

She walks away before they can respond, hearing Spain call her a dumb savage before she is finally out of earshot.

*

“Aw-pan,” Lenape says, surprised at her own happiness. The agreement she struck with England was that every two years, they were supposed to swap who cared for the boy, the three of them spending a month together in between. That’s why, when America left for London, she had a bright outlook for the future.

It’s been thirty years, however.

The young boy stares at her, hugging England’s knee as if she were a stranger.

“Aw-pan,” she tries again, reaching out her hand.

“Who is she?” America whispers.

And just like that, the years they spent together are meaningless.

*

“I gave him the name _He Who Walks Before Daylight_ because of the dream I had where he was walking at dawn, drifting through our village and talking to the spirits,” the Name-Giver whispers.

Lenape clutches her hand, knowing the woman is on her deathbed when her family gathers around.

The Name-Giver squeezes her eyes shut. “But I never told you the full dream, and for that, I must take responsibility.”

“Awp-páh-tah-ch,” Lenape murmurs, using her full name, something intimate and almost rarely done.

Her eyes tear up. “In the dream, the sun shone brilliantly as it rose above the horizon, illuminating the child in the dawn. But then he got too bright, and with him, he burned everything to the ground.”

“…”

“I remember when you first found Aw-pan,” she chokes out. “And now he’s back and doesn’t remember you at all. Please, my Spirit, _Great Lady_ , protect this tribe. Protect them in whatever way you can.”

*

He has the body of a teenager.

“My generals have an idea,” he says. He looks like one now, a proper colonist. He’s dressed up in the military attire too.

Lenape regards him coolly. “Oh?”

“In Europe, it’s customary for armies to line up and have their Nation Avatars face off, and it’s only when one Nation finally kills the other that they have free range to attack the other side’s troops.”

Lenape frowns.

“But here in the Americas, when Nations Spirits go to war, they simply just attack their opponent’s army outright, doing it in— ”

“Spirits do not fight in any wars unless the fate of their tribe is at stake.”

“…”

“It’s a last resort, Alfred.” She hates his new name. It sounds ugly, like it was chosen without any thought what so ever.

“Well…” He suddenly looks his age, acting all nervous now and staring at the ground. “The generals want to employ…they were thinking of gathering a band of Nations to attack the British troops. They believe this could change the tide of the war.”

“And how many Spirits have you told this to?” Lenape sneers.

He fidgets. “You’re the first one.”

“Oh? Why me?”

“Because I know you the best.”

Well, now Lenape feels sad.

She gives a laugh. “Me the best; out of everyone? What about the _Nation_ you’re at war with?”

America’s face gets dark. “I've never really known England.”

*

“Your room is here,” the slave tells her.

Lenape feels ashamed whenever she looks at the other woman. “Thank you,” she answers in English.

She then examines everything when she’s alone. It’s a nice room, she supposes. Insulated well from the cold winter outside, furnished lavishly…

It feels artificial.

She’s staring at everything in a daze when there’s a soft knock on her door.

Lenape almost bursts out laughing when she opens it. Dressed in Western clothing, Shawnee seems like a fish out of water. Though Lenape is really not in any position to laugh; she looks just as awful.

“We’re supposed to head down to dinner,” Shawnee says in that soft voice of hers, uncomfortably pulling at her dress.

Lenape mentally prepares herself to sit at a table with Spain, France, and Prussia. “Okay.”

*

“And when you run out of ammo, take out the bayonet. This sword can also be used to slash people’s throats.”

Mohawk looks horrified. Only having recently pledged her body to help, the first Spirit out of the Iroquois Confederacy to do so, Lenape and Shawnee are trying to train her. ‘Trying,’ is the keyword. In addition to not having adequate equipment or knowledge of what their next mission is, they also have to put up with Spain and France’s random jeers and Prussia’s nonsensical comments.

America finally runs back over to them. “Here, I got your uniform. It might be big because it was made for a man, but we can get it adjusted.”

Mohawk gives him a blank stare while Shawnee pointedly looks away.

Lenape pulls him to the side. “I don’t think she’s prepared—”

“I know that. I’m not going to let her senselessly get killed either even if that’s what my generals are insisting. She can scout the area and bring back information.”

“…”

“Spain and France have been doing enough killing for all of us anyway,” America mutters.

“So you finally regret all of this nonsensical warfare?” Lenape says without thinking.

America gets a weird expression on his face. “You make it seem as though it were my decision.”

Lenape looks away.

“I wish I could make decisions like you,” he whispers. “I wish I could be in control of my own actions.”

 _I no longer am_ , she thinks.

*

It’s nights later when he whispers, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

But for both of their sakes, she pretends she doesn’t hear.

*

Ah, his presence. It’s almost below her now.

Lenape looks down at the field as the rain starts to pour even harder. Shawnee’s comment about the British soldiers running erratically towards them was correct; they seem to have lost all order.

She leans her head against the tree she’s pressed against, feeling water drip down her back.

This war’s almost over, isn’t it? America will become its own country. She can feel it—his energy has something new to it, distinct, whereas before it was marred with England’s stench.

What will become of her actions? Has she truly protected her tribe by committing senseless murder, by becoming nothing more than the empty pawns these barbaric Western Nations are, these no-named personifications of warfare masquerading as humans? They know no families. They don’t know their origins. They are empty, hollow beings, existing to be nothing but subservient.

Has she become the same way?

Below her, England stumbles into view. His uniform is in disarray, and he’s wielding a gun, whipping his head around with a wild look in his eye. When he finally realizes where Lenape’s energy is coming from, his head jerks up.

It’s a long stretch of eye contact. Lenape wonders if she should say anything, but her disapproving look seems to be enough because suddenly, England starts shaking.

He looks like a man grieving a loved one.

What a ridiculous thought.

Before she can say anything, France’s energy lights up, and abruptly he charges out of the other side of the forest at England like he truly, truly wishes to murder him. There is nothing but pure unadulterated hatred marring his face.

_“France hates England,” America murmured to her once._

_“Because of their countries’ histories?”_

_“Maybe,” America mumbled. “But Prussia told me it’s more personal now.”_

_Personal? Lenape wanted to laugh._

_“England took Cana—Arthur took Matthew away from him…”_

Lenape has always found that conversation puzzling—the French Spirit has a human connection? But here he is—here _they_ are, fighting as if the fates of their loved ones ride on their backs.

She watches them, feeling odd, and only looks away when Prussia, Spain, and America appear behind her.

Spain laughs gleefully. “Look at them. England knows this is his last battle; the bastard is fighting like his life depends on it.”

Lenape has no comment, only frowning at America’s pale face as she starts to leave.

“You know,” Prussia says out of the nowhere, causing her to pause. His voice is suddenly different from how she’s ever heard it. “You may be fighting England, but remember—England and Arthur are two different people.”

It’s all the encouragement America needs to sprint down the hill when England hacks off France’s arm.

Both Spain and Lenape are staring at Prussia in confusion, maybe for the same reason, maybe for different ones.

He gives a sheepish grin. Down below, England drops his gun and starts sobbing.

He’s inaudible by the thunder.

* * *

 

V. bitterness

“You’ve gotten weak.”

“I’m insulted,” China says playfully. Though when seeing Japan’s face, his expression sobers.

Japan looks over the balcony. It’s just the two of them right now; Korea left to go get something from his quarters. He and Japan are visiting the Ming Dynasty, staying here as tribute for three months.

“Why am I weak?”

“Yong-Soo always talks about how you murdered a Nation with nothing but a sword and your confidence, yet that was three hundred years ago, and since then you’ve done nothing but act like a pampered God.”

China’s expression gets dangerous. “As if it’s any different from you?”

“…”

He can feel the sudden uncertainty and submissiveness rolling off the other man. He smiles. “That’s what I thought.”

*

“In exchange for my people’s safe migration West, I will give up my body,” are Lenape’s final words many years later. She hasn’t seen a Western Nation other than America since the revolutionary war.

It's why it's odd when she thinks about England as they drag her away and the expression he had during the final battle of the Revolutionary War.

What a strange memory.

*

Years later, Japan thrusts a sword up to his throat during a peace negotiation between the Chinese, Japanese, and Koreans.

It’s then that China blearily thinks that maybe he has gotten weak.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> (the beautiful artwork is by marinovannyeogurchiki.tumblr.com)
> 
> These little snippets of history and ideas have been floating in my head for a while. 
> 
> I thought this could be a fun way to celebrate the anniversary of the two fics in my awh series. And it was fun to revisit some of the characters, if only for a short while.
> 
> I am still coming to terms with parting from everything, but perhaps I never will. I was hesitant to write this, but I figured a piece before the main story wouldn’t be offensive, nor degrade the content that comes after it.
> 
> A ridiculous amount of research was done for some little parts. Perhaps a source I would like to draw the most attention to is this one [[x]](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1EONsM20o8o4SX8ZS2RftOuEM6V2AxgYp/view?usp=sharing) about the sacred naming process in Lenape tribes. Note that this naming process applies only to the Lenape that spoke Unami—there are two other languages the tribe used/uses today. I use the present tense because the Lenape still fight to survive on in the US. Here [[x]](https://www.gofundme.com/nanticoke-lennilenape-tribe) is their gofundme if you want to support them.
> 
> I chose to focus on the Lenape because my hometown is on their ancestral land. I felt it was only right to devote research to them, considering there are still rivers and other landmarks bearing the names the Lenape gave them. It was also easier to focus my research just on portraying one tribe as accurately as I could.
> 
> I will note there that this is indeed the final addition to the series. I have finally written all I wanted to for it. The rest can just be fun to speculate.
> 
> Happy Holidays! Thank you for reading; thank you for going through these years with me. What a ride it’s been.
> 
> And even if I move on from the series and go other places in life, Hetalia will always own a piece of me.
> 
> -neioo


End file.
